


The Real Mystery (is why we take so long to get here)

by BuzzCat



Series: (Belated) Cablanca Week 2020 [1]
Category: Knives Out (2019)
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:49:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25115692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuzzCat/pseuds/BuzzCat
Summary: The trial for Ransom Drysdale is in Iowa. Marta and Benoit are required to fly out, and Marta is a little nervous about the trip. Luckily, she has a good friend willing to come with.
Relationships: Benoit Blanc/Marta Cabrera
Series: (Belated) Cablanca Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1819165
Comments: 6
Kudos: 67





	The Real Mystery (is why we take so long to get here)

**Author's Note:**

> Day 1 - Mysteries
> 
> (by which I mean, the word 'mystery' is in the title and in the fic, and that's the closest we get because I could not get my brain wrapped around this one for reasons unknown)

Benoit sighed, looking at the letter. It had certainly taken them long enough to set a date.

He let the letter drift back to his desk, the summons printed across the top. Summoned for the trial of Ransom Drysdale, a trial moved from Boston to somewhere in Iowa for purposes of selecting a less biased jury. It had been almost eight months since the Thrombey case had wrapped up and from what he’d gleaned, it had been a fight of lawyers since. Truly a mess of a disaster all the way through, according to what Marta had told him.

His phone dinged, and Benoit smiled. Speak of the devil.

A photo from Marta. Her own summons for the trial, with the accompanying text: _Iowa? They’re making us fly to Iowa?_

Benoit sent back a picture of the date on the summons: _By next Saturday no less. I’ve heard it’s a lovely state._

The trial was bound to be a hassle of epic proportions. A media circus outside the court and an extended family drama within that both he and Marta were required to attend. Benoit did hope his presence could offer Marta some small sort of comfort.

They had begun texting almost a month after the conclusion of the case, at first just once or twice a week, more and more until their current pace of multiple times a day. Marta had started them on it by sending Benoit pictures. Silly pictures, donuts she saw in windows when she walked down the street (he was never going to live down the donut-hole-is-not-whole speech as long as he lived), dogs she saw, sometimes even flowers. Just once or twice a week, wishing him a good day. Just as a matter of good manners, he had begun sending pictures back. The sky when it was bright, the way the sunlight looked on the trees. If he had seen a play that week, he would send a picture of the playbill. Occasionally, Benoit had the fleeting idea that one day he would invite Marta to a play. They were friends, and friends did things together. He wouldn’t dare ask her to a play as a date, because he was old and she was young and he did have a healthy sense of reality, but just going as friends. And if, in the very early hours of the morning, he permitted himself the thought that at a play Marta might be so inclined to lean her head on his shoulder, Benoit could hardly chastise himself for the dreams that came in the half-awake hours of the morning.

His phone buzzed with another text from Marta: _Mind if I call?_

_Not at all._

Almost instantly, Benoit’s phone rang, and he answered with a smile on his face, “Are you calling to grow rapturous about the pending trip to Iowa?”

“Hardly. Actually, I was calling to ask for a favor.” Marta sounded nervous and Benoit felt himself sit up a little straighter. Marta was not one to request a favor lightly.

“What is it?”

“The flight to Iowa, would you mind if we fly together? I’m just…I’m a little nervous about flying.”

“Ah. First time?”

“In a long time, at least.”

“Not to worry, Miss Marta, I’d be glad to fly out with out with you.”

He heard her let out a sigh. “Thanks, Benoit. I really didn’t want to go by myself.”

“I’m glad to provide moral support or a human shield, whatever the circumstance may require.” Benoit grimaced as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Lord, he might as well say he was at her beck and call, it sounded soppily attached even to him.

But Marta laughed, thankfully. “I’ll be taking you up on moral support the majority of the trial, I think.”

They spoke briefly, just concerns about the trial, and worked out travel arrangements. By the time Benoit hung up the phone, they had solid travel plans for a five am flight. It would be good to see her again, talk with Marta face-to-face. Not that he didn’t enjoy their texts and calls. In fact, they were instrumental in getting to know Marta at all, and Benoit appreciated their conversation in all the forms it took.

There were times they would text late in the night, each awake with their own worries and concerns (and nightmares, though it had taken a few months for each of them to admit having such things). Often it was Marta who started the late-night conversations, sending a picture of the early morning time on the clock and a frowny face, to which Benoit would reply with a picture of his own clock and a question mark. Marta would text paragraphs, entire letters, about her concerns. The Thrombeys and the headache they were, how even with a sudden influx of cash a greencard was still damnably difficult to attain (but not impossible; Marta’s mother was a legal citizen and Benoit could almost feel the weight it took off Marta’s mind). Benoit would discuss whatever case was teasing at his brain, going over facts and getting a second opinion, though on the very rarest of occasions there would be something else on the mind. The anniversary of his mother’s death, he and Marta had texted until the sun came up. But oftentimes their conversation was not so heavy. Often, in the wee hours of the morning, they’d each get on Netflix, start a show at the same time, and text each other all the way through until one of them fell asleep.

It was so different from the friendships Benoit knew. He had met Marta one weekend, seen her face over 72 hours. Any other friendship, that would have been the end before it began. But he knew Marta so well after months of talking, knew even the mundane details of her life. And she knew some of his most well-kept secrets, which was stranger. Marta knew he had nightmares about that damn knife wheel, about Marta being stabbed and the knife being real. He knew she had nightmares about Harlan sometimes, about the old man berating her for letting him slit his throat. She knew he took his coffee with sugar but drank honeyed tea on the weekends (evidenced by the detritus around his early morning coffee photos). He knew she couldn’t cook to save her soul, as he had answered many questions about how long to cook chicken or vegetables only to receive a charred photo of the efforts later. So many small daily things. If Benoit was feeling particularly nuanced in his wording, and if he was perhaps slightly less than strictly sober, he’d have called in the most chaste version of an intimate relationship.

His friendship with Marta was not something either of them had carefully cultivated and grown so much as a familiarity they had fallen into easily. Benoit was excited to see her again, to see if that familiarity made the transition from screen to life. He believed it would, even hoped there might be the slightest note of something stronger than friendly familiarity to it. Yes, it would be good to see her before the trial, have a chance to see Marta in a social setting before the stress of the trial fully set in.

A week later, as he watched her step through security for their early morning flight, Benoit couldn’t help his smile. It was good to see her again. Summer had come to Boston and her sweaters had been exchanged for simple tshirts and shorts. She looked good, better than she had when last they spoke. Freer, though that could have been because the last time he saw her Marta had only recently stopped thinking herself an inadvertent murderer and was facing down a family of vultures waiting to pick at carrion. But that was months ago and did not bear thinking on. Benoit turned his thoughts away from it, instead focusing on the way Marta lit up when she saw him.

And she did seem to light up, a relieved smile crossing her face as she walked over. Benoit stood to greet her, and before he could hold out his hand to shake hers, Marta had him in a hug. It was fast, just a quick embrace between friends—because that was the word for them, friends—but Benoit was momentarily frozen. He wasn’t sure the last time someone had hugged him. It had to be going on over a decade.

He pushed that particularly depressing thought out of his head as Marta stepped back, still smiling, “It’s so good to see you again, Benoit. Thanks again for flying with me.”

“You are most welcome, but you must stop thanking me for something I am glad to do. But I must admit that I’m curious as to why you would have otherwise been flying alone? You’ve given to understand your mother and sister would be glad to come with as support.”

Marta nodded. “They would, if I asked. Alice is in school now, and Mom is visiting relatives in Arizona. But I didn’t want to bother them with this.”

“You didn’t want them exposed to the media shitstorm this is about to become?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry, I hope you don’t mind that I asked you.”

“I have seen the media circus a time or two before, I have no reservations about going in again in the name of a friend.” He was glad to protect Marta from some of it, if at all possible.

Marta yawned, hiding it behind her hand, before replying, “Thanks. I know I already said it, but really, I feel a lot better flying out if I’m going with—not going alone.” It was a short blip, not even a pause, but Benoit could almost hear where Marta had chosen one path and not another in her words. Not a lie, of course, but a careful navigation of the entire truth. If it had been anyone else, he would have pried and dug for answers. But with Marta, with the rather severe consequences of the girl lying, effectively forcing her to tell him the truth felt distinctly unkind, no matter his given profession.

“I’m glad to offer any peace of mind I can. Now tell me, I noticed in your last photo a book on the nightstand. What’ve you been reading lately?”

Their conversation delved into literature the rest of the wait for their flight to board, Marta regaling him with the various plots of Harlan Thrombey’s novels. When she had been his nurse, Harlan had expressly forbidden her from reading the novels because he did not want “another conversation with a fan who insists on pulling at the loose threads in my mysteries”. But now, with a whole library of collected works, Marta was slowly working her way through the catalogue. In between discussions of Harlan’s novels, Benoit shared some of the more ridiculous details of the cases he’d been working, strange murders for unlikely reasons and missing pets recovered alive and well from ventilation.

They boarded the plan still talking, Marta to her window seat and Benoit to his aisle, though Marta was quiet and attentive during the safety brief from the flight attendant. They talked through takeoff, and it wasn’t until they reached a cruising altitude and Marta’s attention began to waver that Benoit remembered a five-am flight with a four-am boarding time was considered early to many people.

Marta yawned halfway through her description of the clue-laden emu pen in Harlan’s Menagerie Tragedy Trilogy and Benoit realized the sun was just coming up behind her.

“I hate to interrupt, but don’t feel the need to stay up on my account. If you want to sleep, I am more than able to entertain myself.”

“No it’s fine, I’ll get some coffee.”

“Marta, this trial is about to be a month of stressful accusations and imposing media, and I know you haven’t been sleeping well. As a friend, I’m asking you to get some sleep.”

He watched as Marta’s resolve wavered, then crumbled as she pulled a long-sleeve jacket out of her bag. “I’m sorry, I asked you to fly with me and then I want to sleep through it.”

“You are perfectly fine. I’ll be glad to arrive in Iowa knowing someone other than the illustrious Thrombeys.”

Marta laughed, even as she leaned back against her chair, each blink longer than the last. “Thanks, Benoit. We’ll catch up more later, yes?”

“Of course. Get some rest.” And Marta was out like a light. Benoit looked at her, sleeping soundly for what was likely the first time in weeks. He was right; she needed the rest if they were to get through a month of Thrombey madness. Sleep made her look peaceful, smoothed away the perpetual worried line that lingered on her brow. Then Benoit realized he was staring and shook himself out of it, pulling his current book from his briefcase and settling in to read.

Half an hour later, after he had waved off the snacks and drinks but had accepted a blanket to drape carefully over the sleeping Marta, Benoit was pulled from his book as the plane hit a bump and suddenly Marta was pressed against him, arm to arm with her head resting against his shoulder. He could hear her even breathing, half convinced he could feel it through his suit blowing across his skin.

It felt…good, pulled from Benoit almost an embarrassingly primal pride that she could sleep soundly with him beside her. There were so many things in Marta’s life that worried her, worries about her sister, about respecting Harlan’s wishes, about the Thrombeys, and a hundred smaller things. Marta’s plate was full and as Benoit had discovered in their many conversations, Marta did not like to ask for help. Asking him to fly down with her was the first thing she had asked him for at all, in their months of texting. And, if Benoit was more brutally honest with himself than early morning hours truly permitted, it was nice to be needed. He was often needed, of course, but as a detective. Someone needed to come in and chart the path of truth, unravel mysteries. But what Marta needed from him was a shoulder to sleep on. With this one thing, in this small way, he could help.

Marta slept through until they landed in Iowa, the plane’s touchdown jolting her in her chair and waking her at last. She blinked her eyes, taking in the bright sunlight of the airstrip. Benoit very carefully looking out the window as well, instead of watching Marta wake up. But he could see peripherally as she looked down at the blanket still draped over her, at—

“Oh god, did I drool on your shoulder?”

Benoit craned his neck, to see a very tiny spot on the shoulder, hardly anything worth noticing. He looked at Marta, about to wave away any reaction, only to find her looking at him oddly. There was something considering in her eye, a look he suspected was not unlike his own after determining the exact nature of gravity’s rainbow. He couldn’t speak, only look at her and watch her realizing something. It was only a moment, but it felt like an eternity before Marta blinked and hid away whatever she’d been thinking.

“God, I’m sorry, we can find a drycleaner in town before everything gets crazy. I’ve never done that before, I don’t know what it was, I just was sleeping so well, and—” she cut herself off and Benoit gave her a questioning look. Marta blushed red, not pink but a bright red, and couldn’t quite meet his eye. “I don’t actually hate flying. Flying always makes me fall asleep, and lately I’ve been having these terrible nightmares. But I didn’t have any nightmares this time.”

The truth arrived at his feet. Marta wanted to fly with him because she had hoped he would keep the nightmares away. And he had. She’d trusted him and he hadn’t even known it. Benoit cleared his throat,

“Marta, when this is all over, would you like to come to the theatre with me?”

“As a friend?” He could see her throat working, the nerves in her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket.

“As whatever you’d like to come as.”

She smiled at him, relieved. “As soon as we’re back in Boston, it’s a date.”

**Author's Note:**

> My first Cablanca fic! I feel like I'm having a hard time nailing character voice, so if anyone has got feedback, lemme know because I'm kind of shooting in the dark here but I'm trying to get better. I intend to upload a fic a day for the next week, all in the same series, so keep an eye out!


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